Kiss Me Like A Stranger
by Katie Havok
Summary: The three of them pull Newt back into their shared orbit, and he smiles and comments in the appropriate places while sipping his lemonade, trying very hard not to wonder how Tina's drink would taste sampled from her lips. (Warning: mentions of alcoholism/drug use.)


_**Author's** **Warning** **:** _ This story deals with the heavy themes of substance abuse, including mentions of alcoholism and drug use. If this is a trigger for you, please kindly navigate away from this tale.

* * *

It's Jacob who susses his secret out first, which is no surprise. The man is surprisingly canny, and he's mentioned experiences similar to what Newt's gone through; in truth, Newt's surprised it's taken the other man _this_ long to figure out, what with the proliferation of clues he'd allowed to let slip.

"What'll ya have, sweetie?"

Their waitress has a distinctly Bronx intonation, riotously curly red hair and an intricate tattoo on her right arm. She's pretty in a distant sort of way—though she doesn't hold a candle to Tina, who is radiant in a champagne-colored Ford dress, dark hair gleaming—and she smiles at him as if she recognizes his face.

Maybe she does; the New York Ghost had printed his picture when it was announced that his book would be getting a second edition. Or, perhaps it's because he and his friends come here regularly to enjoy drinks and dancing and a chance to mingle outside the parameters of work and commitments and deadlines.

Newt realizes he's gone off on his own mental tangent when the waitresses smile turns brittle, and she glances worriedly at Tina. He shakes himself mentally, putting his mind firmly in the here and now, before showing a small, intentionally daffy smile.

"So sorry," he murmurs, knowing she'll have to stoop to hear him over the brassy thump and clatter of the live jazz music. "I was wool-gathering for a moment; please forgive me. I'd like a lemonade, if I may."

She's nodding before he even finishes, her hovering quill jotting the order down as she switches her gaze to Tina. "Yeah, that's right hun, you're the Brit who never gets any tipple. I remember ya now." The waitress tosses him a distant smile before walking away, causing Newt to blink after her before turning back to his friends. They're watching him with varying degrees of concern until Tina reaches out to take his hand.

"You all right?" She is a calm port amid the storm of the club and his own jumbled thoughts. He squeezes her fingers gently.

"Yes, I'm fine," he mumbles, and it's mostly true. He knows that, through determination and grimly won years of self-discipline, he can ignore the urge to scrub his upper lip clean of phantom foam. He can forget, if he tries, how _good_ a shot of whiskey would feel in his hand, over his tongue, down his throat to spread warmth into his belly. He can distract himself from the dry itch beneath his skin that speaks of a thirst he _knows_ from hard-won experience only leads down a dark and twisted path.

Tina delicately cradles his hand in both her own, while Jacob gives him a narrow-eyed look from across the table. Newt meets his gaze levelly, and the other man tips his head before blinking rapidly. His lips form a soundless _"oh!"_ beneath his neat little mustache when it all clicks into place. Alarmed, Newt widens his eyes before cutting them, quick as lightening, to Tina, then back to Jacob while ducking his head.

With a nod of understanding—and no little sympathy—Jacob bestows him with a faint smile before turning to Queenie and asking, in a forced jocular tone, "Hey Doll—ya wanna go cut a rug, show these other _schmucks_ how it's done?" She giggles and takes his hand in answer, but not before sharing a quick, meaningful glance with Newt.

Tina waits until the other couple is executing a series of quick steps before tracing the scars on his knuckles. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?" she asks in a calm voice. Newt winces inwardly and glances around for the waitress, who is conveniently nowhere in sight, before taking a careful breath.

"Um." He stares at their hands, admiring her short but well-groomed nails and smooth knuckles before withdrawing his own. Tina squeezes his fingers but lets him go, her eyes falling dejectedly into her lap. Newt frowns to himself, worrying his handkerchief while he casts about for how to begin.

"It's okay," she says suddenly. Newt glances up to find Tina watching him with sad eyes, a frown pulling on her pretty mouth. "We all have our secrets." She slouches into herself for a moment before straightening her shoulders, tossing her head back and squaring her jaw. "I just don't like it when you three can share them between yourselves, but not with me. It makes me feel pretty left out, you know."

Newt touches her wrist gently. "I don't mean to make you feel that way," he murmurs, "and neither do Queenie or Jacob." Tina nods, mouth curling into a moue of disbelief. Newt grimaces at the table before going on. "I will tell you if you'd like. I just...it's something I had hoped to bring up in my own time."

Tina opens her mouth to respond, but she's interrupted by a clatter when their waitress returns bearing a tray of drinks. She distributes the items with practiced efficiency before taking her leave. Newt watches Tina reach for her cocktail and take a long, fortifying pull. "That's better," she sighs and shows him a small smile.

He strokes the back of her hand until she rotates her wrists to expose her palm, allowing him to trace its delicate lines and curves and her fleshly purlicue. Eventually, her eyes smile at him from over the stemware as they slowly relax. She's opening her mouth to say something when Jacob and Queenie return, glowing and obviously delighted with their company, their exertions, and each other.

The three of them pull Newt back into their shared orbit, and he smiles and comments in the appropriate places while sipping his lemonade, trying very hard not to wonder how Tina's drink would taste sampled from her lips.

* * *

The subject isn't broached again until weeks later.

Newt's up before the sun, as is his way, and he hauls himself out of the case after morning chores to amble towards the Goldstein's kitchen. It's new, this staying with them; and while he hasn't slept anywhere besides the case, he won't deny enjoying this newfound level of intimacy. Queenie's dinners are not to be missed. Neither is the morning sight of Tina in rumpled pajamas, nodding over a steaming mug of coffee with mussed hair and sleep in her eyes.

He draws up short when he spies Jacob, fresh-faced and dressed for the day, smelling of cologne and baked goods as he deftly mans the stove. Newt raises a curious brow when the other man turns to him and starts violently, before cracking a broad grin and ducking his head. "You're like a—a cat or somethin'," Jacob grumbles good-naturedly. Newt accepts the barb while seamlessly overseeing the scrambling of eggs and construction of hash while Jacob brews tea.

They eat in companionable silence, and it isn't until Newt sets down his fork and napkin that he notices Jacob eying him curiously. He hastily washes down his last bit of dry toast with a gulp of tea, knowing instinctively what subject is on the other man's mind.

"So—what was it for you?" Jacob finally asks. His tone is idle but his eyes are keen, and his knuckles are white with strain.

Newt stalls, swishing his last sip of tea and tasting his back teeth before confessing, "It was everything and nothing, I suppose." He puts his teacup back into its saucer, and they both pretend the china doesn't chatter before he moves his fingers away. "It wasn't as bad as you're probably thinking, though it was bad enough." He meets Jacob's eyes with a thin scrim of a smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It always is, isn't it?"

Jacob nods before taking a long draught of coffee. Newt uses the momentary pause to collect his thoughts, reluctant to revisit his past, but grateful for the chance to have it out at last. He thinks of Tina and his tender affections for her, the way her name fills his chest with warmth and decides to view this is merely a trial-run for eventually telling her.

"I was expelled from Hogwarts, as you know," he tells Jacob abruptly. "I was young, stupid, and fancied myself in love, to put none too fine a point to it—and all it earned me was expulsion, infinite scorn, and disownment." Newt snorts indelicately. "In retrospect, I suppose I was ripe for enticements, and my brother knew it. At the time, I didn't see it that way."

The other man looks suddenly interested. Newt nods, all traces of humor leaving his face. "Theseus persuaded me to join the effort shortly after war was declared. I was drinking rather in excess, you see, and he was worried about both _his_ image and how our father would treat me _if_ he ever decided to welcome me back into our family's good graces."

"Did enlisting work? To get your dad to forgive you, I mean." Jacob looks surprised at the sound of his own voice, blinking while slowly turning red. Newt reaches out to trace the edge of his placemat reflectively.

"Yes, and no. I received a letter from Mother six months after I shipped, saying that she was working on Father." A carefully measured breath. "He sent a letter a few months later to inform me that I was conditionally once again his son, provided I 'served with valor' and 'made the name of Scamander proud'."

Newt spits the words out before standing abruptly. He prepares himself another cup of tea in short, sharp movements before taking his seat. Jacob, meanwhile, is watching him with open fascination despite his obvious discomfort.

"We worked with the eggs at first," Newt finally goes on. "After they hatched, we imprinted as best we could—though I'll admit that most of the dragons attached to me and no one else. That made things...difficult for me. Dragons are incredibly bad-tempered, you understand." He takes a sip of tea, just this side of too hot, and uses his scalded tongue to ground himself in reality. "A lot of good men died those first two years. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't be everywhere at once."

Newt fingers the rose-printed China to avoid the sympathy in Jacob's face. "We were given two and one-half ounces of rum per day, which I split evenly between the morning and the evening. If that wasn't enough, and it _never_ was, forI traded with the other men to get more. They all knew that I was having more than my fair share, but none of the soldiers complain of having more biscuits or tinned stew." He meets the other man's eyes levelly. "I often had trouble sleeping, you see."

Jacob swallows and looks away. "Yeah, yeah buddy, I, uh—I can imagine." He pulls a face, and Newt waits patiently for the inevitable question. It is a relief when it finally comes, a feeling not unlike the first pull of rum after a night's worth of broken nightmares.

"Is that—was that all of it? You never got into anything else? I only ask 'cause our guys, pal—they were into some heavy stuff. Worse than cigarettes, I mean, and the smokes were bad enough. I stayed away, I figured I had enough to worry about without complicating it"—he pats his round belly fondly, but there's no humor in the gesture—"but some of those guys…"

"They would send us kits from home," Newt answer slowly. "I didn't touch mine at first, but they contained a few items that were mostly intended to help with pain. We had magic, that's true; but more often than not we were directly involved with Muggle troops, so a wand or a potion was almost never _realistic_." He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Turns out, one of the pain medications helped with remaining alert. The other helped put you to sleep when your rotation was over." He meets Jacob's eyes to hammer the point home, fingers subconsciously rubbing the inner bend of his elbow. "And those could be traded for, too."

A board creaks behind them before settling; Newt barely notices. He watches Jacob, who, fascinated, nods in perfect understanding. "And how long was you like that?"

"A little over a year while with the dragon corps," Newt says quickly. "Then I worked directly with Muggle soldiers for a brief stint before going home. I was...injured. I returned to England deeply fatigued, to spend a month locked away in my flat, getting better and slowly regaining my strength. Theseus stayed with me."

He trails off, eyes fixed in the middle distance before sighing slowly. "And after all that, father decided I hadn't been 'valorous enough' and never allowed me back into the family. Theseus and mother both argued on my behalf, but my father was a hard man who was also taken to drink, though he became incredibly mean when in his cups." He quirks an eyebrow at the table. "I never stood a chance, I realize now."

Newt sucks air over his teeth before risking a look at Jacob. "Now do you understand, Mr. Kowalski? Do you see why I waited so long to even _begin_ to consider telling Tina, and why I'm telling you?" He reaches up to scrub his upper lip before, horrified, jerking his hand away. "I have nothing to offer her in terms of familial connections, only the smallest of inheritances to speak of, and no solid prospects other than my career and my book. I'm not precisely in a position to offer her the future she deserves, but I find that I just can't stay away."

Jacob's eyes cut over Newt's shoulders before coming to land on his face. "You love her, don't cha?" he asks bluntly. Newt begins to shake his head but the other man snorts rudely, causing Newt to look at him through wide eyes. "'Course you do. I seen the way you look at her, and the way she looks at _you_. You're both just _gone_ on each other; you think she cares about inheritance and names and all that? She's just happy to _have ya_ , pal!"

Frustrated, Newt runs his fingers through his hair until it stands on end. "I _do_ love her," he admits in a hoarse voice. "I'm just...not entirely certain that's enough. She deserves so much _more_ than I could ever hope to give."

"Shouldn't _she_ be the judge of that?"

Newt starts violently, heart beating like a war drum in his chest. Jacob's expression transmits apologies to him until Newt closes his eyes in self-recrimination, stomach churning as he realizes how long Tina's been behind him, and how much she's overheard. He scrambles to stand and explain or apologize as needed, nearly upending his chair in the process.

Tina meets him with dark, somber eyes, cupping his cheek with one hand as the other tangles with his own. He watches her carefully, holding his breath while bracing himself for rejection.

"Did you really think I'd...what? Brush you off if you told me?" Tina slides her fingers into his hair when his hands fall to her waist. She moves closer to him with a small, disbelieving smile, fingernails gently scraping his scalp. "That would be hypocritical of me, wouldn't it? Since all I have to offer you...is myself."

"You're more than enough for me," Newt murmurs. He presses his lips to her forehead in awe, closing his eyes while breathing in the scent of her hair. "You're all I want, or could ever want. Just you."

He feels more than sees her nod. "That's good," she whispers, "because that's all I have for you, but I'd be willing to give it _all._ " Tina steps back to grip his forearm, hard enough for her blunt fingernails to dig into his skin. "If you want it."

"I do," he breathes. "Tina, I _do_ but I'm still not sure...it isn't always _easy_ for me. Sometimes, when we go out, I—" he flounders, blinking back ridiculous tears. She shows a smile just for him while brushing his eyelids with her thumbs. The heartfelt gesture gives him the strength to go on. "I struggle," Newt concludes simply.

Tina presses sculpted lips to his forehead. "Then we'll struggle together," she whispers. "I'll help you. You _know_ I will."

Newt blinks down at her in wonder before brushing her lips with his own. "Do you promise?"

Tina nods and touches his mouth with the tips of her fingers. "You caught me once, remember? Well, this time, next time, whenever—I'll catch _you_."

He folds her into his arms at last, pressing his face into her shoulder and swallowing thickly. Behind them and forgotten, Jacob honks wetly into his handkerchief before excusing himself from the room with hastily-murmured apologies.

Her flannel pajamas absorb his tears until Newt calms down enough to allow Tina to dab at his face. She's smiling gently as she does it, eyes shining until he catches her wrist to kiss her knuckles. "Thank you," he rasps, inadequate words for all that he _feels_ but cannot articulate.

She laughs while tugging him into the kitchen. "You can thank me with food and coffee since it was you guys who woke me up," Tina teases gently, and squeezes his hand.

Astounded, Newt mops at his face one last time before following after her.

* * *

 **Author's note** : You can find me on Tumblr (username: katiehavok) if that's your thing. I would recommend seeking me out there—it's the best place to find me if you wish to keep track of my works, and I _always_ accept prompts and requests for Newt/Tina and Newt/Queenie. Thanks, as always, to Kemara for beta-reading and general encouragements.


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